


Gravity Flu

by Anonymous



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crying, Flu, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Dipper, Sick Dipper Pines, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23895751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A nasty case of the stomach flu hits Gravity Falls, and, as luck would have it, the Pines family is affected.
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

It was a sunny Tuesday and the twins were ushered to get a move on and get onto the car. Grunkle Stan had decided they were going to have a family day, and they were going hiking. Mabel was relatively excited, as per usual, and was sing-songing about the adventure that awaited them. Dipper, on the other hand, seemed irritated at having to get up early. He picked at his breakfast and dragged his feet getting in Stan's car.

"Yeesh, kid, cool it with the enthusiasm, you're killin' me here," Stan joked, revving up the engine as they made their departure.

"Yeah! Come on Dipper, stop being so grumpy!" Mabel interjected. Dipper just sighed in response, focusing on the window and scenery flying by them. They were driving about an hour and a half out to get to the place where they were going to be hiking. He couldn't help but wish he was able to go back to his bed and go to sleep. He guessed he hadn't slept well. He let his head fall against the window and he drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke again, only perhaps twenty minutes later, he felt even more groggy and tired than he did before. He felt too hot and his stomach was gurgling and it was too stuffy and he longed to get out of this car.

"Grunkle Stan, how much longer?" He asked.

"Look, kid, you start askin' me that and the ride's gonna feel even longer."

He tried to go to sleep again, but something was keeping him from doing so despite how tired he felt. He tried to sit still and look out the window to keep distracted.

He might have been okay just looking out the window if the gurgling in his stomach wasn't getting uncomfortable and if it wasn't so hot in this car. He managed for another few minutes when he began feeling nauseous.

He gulped hard and tried to ignore the saliva that was filling his mouth along with the taste of pennies in his throat. His face paled. He knew all too well what was next.

He brought his hands to his midsection and groaned miserably. Mabel turned her attention to her twin, immediately concerned.

"Dipper? Are you okay?" She asked.

Dipper ignored her question and urgently addressed Stan.

"Grunkle Stan, pull over," he moaned.

"Why do I need to-"

"Just do it!"

Grunkle Stan quickly pulled the car off the road and into the grass. Dipper wasted no time throwing the door open and leaning out to vomit into the grass. Mabel patted his back as he emptied his stomach. He groaned and coughed weakly when he was finished, feeling as though he'd just puked out every fiber of strength his body might have possessed.

Stan cursed under his breath. "Y'alright, kid? Carsick?"

Dipper would have answered, but there was a gnawing ache in the base of his stomach that made him scared he'd puke again if he tried to reply.

"Hold on," He said, and got out of the car to walk around to the trunk. He had a lot of miscellaneous stuff laying around back there, one of which being a big brown paper bag from a grocery store. He opened up Dipper's side of the car and passed him the bag.

"Keep that close," he was told, and he miserably nodded in response, closing his eyes. He felt his uncle's calloused hand brush his forehead.

"Alright, knuckleheads, we're headin' home. Dipper's got a fever," he concluded. He got back in the driver's seat and turned the car around, heading back.

Dipper laid his head in Mabel's lap, feeling awful for ruining the plans his uncle had set for the three of them.

The first twenty minutes of the forty minute ride back were bearable, but the second twenty minutes Dipper increasingly felt worse and worse.

"Grunkle Stan…how much longer?"

"About fifteen minutes, kid. You uh, okay?

Dipper shook his head no, and the car was pulled off into the grass. He opened the door and leaned out to throw up again. Once again, Mabel reached over to rub his back and he slowly pulled himself back in when he was done, and set his head in his sister's lap.

"Aw, Dipper, your face is white as a sheet!" Mabel exclaimed.

He weakly acknowledged her with a grunt, and managed to drift off for the rest of the ride home.

As promised, fifteen minutes later Dipper was being led out of the car and to his room by Grunkle Stan. He hung his head in shame as he trudged, exhausted, up the stairs.

Upon returning to the attic that served as a bedroom to him and his sister, Grunkle Stan helped him out of his vest and put his hat elsewhere while Dipper slipped off his shoes. He stumbled forward on wobbly, weak legs and let himself collapse into the soft bliss of his bed on his aching body. Stan cleared his throat and awkwardly laid a blanket over his great nephew before telling him to yell if he needed anything before leaving him to sleep.

Dipper curled up underneath his blanket and nestled down to go to sleep.

...

The rest of the day passed in a strange pattern of sleeping and being awoken just slightly by someone checking his fever or propping him up and murmuring for him to take a sip of something sweet and bubbly from a straw.

He awoke again in the early evening at the feeling of a different hand on his forehead. It was just early enough for it not to be pitch black where he couldn't see a thing, but still too dark for his weary eyes to make out who was sitting on the side of his mattress touching his face. He blurted out a delirious, illogical guess.

"…Mom?" He croaked hopefully.

"'Fraid not kid, sorry. Just Wendy. Your uncle asked me to come up and check on you. You holding up okay?"

Dipper felt his face heat up with embarrassment. He began struggling to sit up before two hands on his shoulders ushered him back down.

"Hey, relax."

He huffed a sigh and meekly did as he was told, mainly because he was feeling too weak to sit up anyway. Wendy gave him a sympathetic half-smile. "You want anything?"

He just shook his head.

"You sure?" She asked. He nodded silently.

"Okay," She said, squeezing his hand. "Well, my shift is over, so I'm heading home, but I hope you feel better tomorrow, dork."

Dipper gave a sheepish nod in response, his eyes falling shut before she even left the room. He slipped asleep once again.

...

"Diiiipper, wake uuuup," Mabel hummed to her brother, trying to awaken him gently.

"Nngh…" He groaned.

"Dipper, time to eat!" Mabel said exuberantly. "I made you chicken soup and toast and there's ginger ale that Grunkle Stan bought! You don't even have to get out of bed! C'mon, sit up!"

"I'm not hungry…" Dipper mumbled, feeling his stomach turn at the thought of food.

"You need to at least try! C'mon!" She urged.

Dipper gave in and sat up, struggling a little to do so. Mabel immediately lifted the tray off the nightstand and set it on her twin's lap. Dipper queasily examined his options. There was a bowl full of yellowy-orange broth and a piece of plain toast, along with a few saltines off to the side. He reached for a saltine and carefully began nibbling the edges off, and found after a few tiny swallows that he could give eating a try. He finished off two crackers and a bite of his toast, and about half of the soup. He had a few swallows of ginger ale before he pushed the tray away, unable to eat any more.

"You did even better than I thought!" Mabel told him, before lifted the tray off of his lap and slipping out of the room to discard the uneaten food.

Dipper crossed his arms over his middle and sat back, looking at the window and how dark it was outside. He thought about the journal and all the stuff that might be out there and how disappointing it was knowing he probably wouldn't feel up to investigating anything by tomorrow. Whatever he'd come down with was completely sucking up all of his energy.

By the time Mabel returned to the room, Dipper was beginning to drift off again, so she quietly turned off the light and pulled his blanket up. She quietly got herself into bed as well, keeping Waddles close.

Dipper's dreams were filled with heat. He was inside of the Mystery Shack as it was on fire, and he was trapped in the attic. He kept trying to find a way out, but it seemed there was none, and it was getting hotter and hotter. He just…needed to find a way out…just needed to get where it was cooler and where he could breathe. He looked toward the attic window, and figuring he had no other choice, made a dash for it in order to try and break out. He ran toward it, his body seemingly on fire, and…

…stared up at the ceiling. He felt a momentary relief before his face flushed hot and he became aware that he was going to throw up. He bolted upright and made an attempt to swing his legs over the side of the bed but found he was sufficiently tangled. He turned his head over the side of the bed in a weak attempt to prevent a mess and threw up all over the floor.

He found himself whimpering miserably from the pain and distress of vomiting, and soon enough, Mabel was awake and inching her way around the puddle of vomit, trying her best to comfort her brother, figure out what to do, and remain calm all at once.

"Okay, okay, um…Dipper, come on, let's go to the bathroom and clean you up, okay? It's gonna be fine, I'll get Stan, or-or call mom or something…" She whispered, being as gentle as she could. She clambered up onto the end of his bed and helped him to scoot to the end as to avoid the puddle on the floor. She took his hands and helped him stand up on his wobbly legs and pulled one of his arms over her shoulder to keep his drooping body upright. Dipper leant heavily on his twin as she led him down the stairs to the closest bathroom.

"Mabel," He managed to stammer, "I-I'm gonna throw up again."

Mabel moved quickly, shuffling Dipper to kneel down in front of the toilet and placing her hand in between his shoulder blades, tenderly rubbing circles in his back, the same way he had for her once when she'd come down with the stomach flu and was stuck in the nurse's office throwing up when school was still in session.

He vomited until he was having spells of dry heaving, his body desperate to rid itself of something that wasn't there. When the heaves subsided, he was left burning up with a fever, a sore throat, a throbbing headache, and a near-limp shivering body.

"Wait here. I'm going to go get Grunkle Stan," Mabel told him after she scooted him so he was propped up in the corner created by the wall and the bathtub. He merely nodded and pulled his shaky arms and legs closer to himself as chills raked his body.

He must have dozed off because next thing he was aware of was Stan prodding a thermometer in his mouth with Mabel crouching close behind. He allowed the thermometer and dully registered his great uncle's sound of worried discontent at the reading. That couldn't have been a good sign. His face was wiped with a cold, damp wash cloth and the sweat-drenched shirt he was wearing was pulled over his head, and his upper body was wiped down by the damp cloth as well.

He sat limply, miserably allowing his sister and great uncle to take care of him, but wishing only to be back in bed. He felt a pang of real, heart-wrenching homesickness for the first time since arriving in Gravity Falls. He missed his bed at home and his mom and felt his heart ache.

Grunkle Stan was gruffly instructing him to take the two blue pills he was holding out to him along with a water bottle. He followed instructions without complaint. He was far too tired to complain. Next he was handed a little medicine cup full of bubblegum pink Pepto-Bismol. He begrudgingly tossed it back and groaned a little at the taste. He was passed the water bottle again and took as small a sip as was possible to clear the taste before he handed it back.

He was just beginning to wonder if he even had the strength to walk up a flight of stairs when Stan gathered Dipper into his arms, and began heading for the couch. He was laid down, covered with a blanket and a large plastic mixing bowl was set on his lap in case his stomach rebelled any further. He was just grateful to be lying down.

"You can go back to your bed after we clean up in the room, okay?" She asked softly, patting her twin's hand. Dipper's heart sank when he remembered the events of earlier and he felt a lump in his throat and tears sting his eyes.

"Mabel?" He croaked miserably.

"What's wrong?" She asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch, her hand gravitating toward the bowl, as if fearing he was going to say he needed to throw up.

"I feel really homesick," He whispered, trying to hide how close to crying he was.

"Aw, Dip, it's just because you don't feel well! I bet I'd want to go home and see Mom if I were as sick as you right now. But Grunkle Stan is doing better than we would've thought! Right? Once you get better you won't feel so homesick, I promise."

Dipper nodded, trying his best to tell himself that Mabel was right. But right then all his brain wanted was his home and his bed and (in all honesty) his mother. He turned on his side and tucked his arms over his aching midsection, deciding to close his eyes and rest while he had a chance. Mabel silently slipped from the side of the couch and went to go help Stan.

...

Dipper awoke to find that he was being laid down in his bed, his blankets pulled up over his shoulders. He sighed softly, and wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy to be in bed.

"Kid, there's a wastebasket by the bed if you…uh, need it. And a glass of water over here. Anything else you want, or…need? Or whatever?" Stan asked.

"Um…another blanket?" He stammered after a moment of thought, feeling distantly guilty for troubling him.

"Sure," He replied, and soon enough he felt the slight weight of another blanket settle over him. The lights in the room were turned off and Grunkle Stan muttered something to Mabel he didn't quite make out. He quickly fell into the sacred depths of much-needed sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

He awoke slowly to the feeling of someone gently jostling his shoulder. He gave a low groan as he became more aware of his body and how terrible it felt.

"Mabel?" He mumbled, trying to identify who was trying to awaken him.

"Yup, it's me. How do you feel? Do you want to try something to eat?" She asked, removing her hand from his back.

"No, not hungry…" He answered, swallowing hard.

"Okay. But at least drink some ginger ale! Pleeease?"

He gave a huff and complied, taking his time rolling over and being propped up, grumpily realizing that moving was not a good idea for him in his current state. He obediently took a few sips of the soft drink before he pushed it away from his mouth, unable to drink any more. Mabel seemed to understand.

"I called Mom. She told me to tell you she loves you and hopes you feel better. And that I have to make sure you rest today," She told him, setting the drink down on the nightstand.

Dipper hummed what was probably an 'okay' and rolled onto his side with his back to Mabel. She took that as her cue to leave and headed out the door, shutting it behind her. Dipper took a moment to assess his symptoms, and found that the nausea had mostly dissipated. His throat still ached when he swallowed and a dull headache throbbed at his forehead. His whole body just sort of ached, but his stomach was the worst. He didn't feel as if he was going to vomit anymore, thankfully, but his stomach was left with strong, aching pain that was hard to ignore.

He sighed and nestled back into his blankets, thinking he'd like to go downstairs to watch TV for awhile. He considered it, and proceeded to slowly swing his legs over the side of the bed and push himself onto his feet, but after wobbling and plopping back down on the bed almost immediately, he sighed in defeat, tiredly realizing he was too weak to make the trek on his own.

"Mabel?" He called out, wincing at the pain in his throat and the scratchiness of his voice.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs a little hurriedly, and then Mabel tossed the door open.

"Yeah, is everything okay? What's wrong?" She asked quickly.

"Nothing…just, could you help me downstairs to watch TV? It's, like, really…boring just laying here…"

"Oh, sure!" Mabel cheerfully took Dipper by the elbow and carefully guided him downstairs to the living room, helping him get settled with a blanket in Grunkle Stan's armchair. She passed him the remote and he gratefully accepted it, and after a few minutes of channel surfing, landed on something he could bear and nestled underneath his blanket.

He spent about a half hour watching TV and feeling pretty close to normal. But just as he was beginning to think he'd feel totally better by the end of the day, a jolt of sickening malaise and illness of the stomach washed over him and he groaned, curling into a ball and tugging the blanket around himself. He'd gone from feeling only slightly sore and fatigued to feeling full-blown sick again within only a minute or so.

He felt a chill run up his spine and tugged his blanket closer. He guessed his fever must have just spiked up.

He lay still for a few minutes feeling admittedly bad for himself. At that moment he heard a door swing open, footsteps, the fridge opening and closing, and soon the crack of a soda can being opened.

"Oh, hey kid," Grunkle Stan greeted, walking by him. "How's your stomach?"

Dipper responded with an 'mmph' sound, not feeling up to giving a proper answer, or even really prying his eyes open, for that matter. He was sure Grunkle Stan could decipher how awful he felt by the mere fact that he was obeying instructions to rest today rather than soaking up in the air of mystery and excitement that was Gravity Falls.

A hand descended his forehead and he was suddenly hit with a momentary wave of grumpiness, feeling the urge to bat it away, but resisted.

"Still got a fever," He commented, reaching to the side table for the thermometer. "Let's see what the damage is."

He stuck the thermometer in his great nephew's mouth, hit the 'On' button, and sat down on the Ottoman while they waited for a reading.

After a digital exclamation from the thermometer signaling the reading, Stan plucked it from his mouth and read aloud the results.

"103 even. No wonder you feel so rotten, kid. Still better than last night, you were almost 104. You uh, want some medicine? Probably would make you less…miserable."

"Yes please," He rasped; his voice indicative of his dry, raw throat.

"Anything else you need?"

"Water…" came the soft, tired reply. He was beginning to feel dehydrated and even weaker than before, and it was showing. He was fading fast.

"Sure thing, kiddo," He answered, and if Dipper hadn't of known any better he would have swore there was a hint of sympathy in his voice.

If Stan was being honest with himself (and for the moment, he was), he was a little alarmed about just how sick Dipper was. Was it normal for him to be this lethargic? Did he need to take him to an urgent care clinic? As he filled the glass with water and fished out two Acetaminophen pills, he concluded that if his fever spiked up any more than 103 or he started throwing up again, he would take him to one. That was a reasonable thing to do, right?

Stan brought back water and two pills as promised, and sat down next to his great nephew, who had apparently nodded off in the minute-or-so it had taken him to get the medicine and water he'd fetched. He sat still, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do. He thought for a second, and set the pills on the side table and, with the glass of water still in one hand; he reached out to pat Dipper's overly-warm shoulder.

"Dip, wake up for a sec, kid. Got your water and medicine."

Dipper reluctantly opened his eyes, and tried to push himself upright. His arms felt like noodles and wouldn't support him as he struggled to push himself up. There was a large hand slipped under his back before he could make another struggled attempt, and he was carefully eased upright. The glass of water was held out to him, and he took it, but noticed that Stan didn't remove his hand from it as he slowly sipped as he was instructed. He eventually took his pills and got back to lying down, sleep threatening to overtake him once again.

"You good?" Stan asked after a moment, scratching the back of his neck. He just never knew what to do in these sorts of situations. He wished he could do something to make Dipper feel better right there and then, but he knew how sickness worked, needing to run its course and all. He knew the general, factual basics of how to care for sick children from reading the instructions the twins' mother had sent with them…rest, fluids, fever monitoring, plain foods, medicine, et cetera. He just wasn't sure how to…interact. He obviously wasn't good at being comforting.

"Yeah," Dipper croaked in reply, handing the cup back and curling up under his blanket with a shiver.

Stan noticed the shiver and went to the hall closet, fishing out the cleanest blanket he could find, and went back to lay it over his great nephew, feeling strangely parental and therefore a little embarrassed. But Dipper grabbed the blanket and pulled it around himself, grateful for the additional warmth.

"Thanks…" He mumbled sleepily.

"Uh…yeah, sure thing, kiddo."

/

Dipper once again slept through most of the day, waking up every now and then to watch a little TV and drink a few sips of water or ginger ale that Stan brought him. He was slowly getting better, the waves of dizziness and nausea only happening occasionally in addition to the exhaustion and aches that seemed to linger.

He was lying down in the early evening, watching a Ducktective re-run he hadn't seen before, but wasn't having much success paying attention to what was going on. He startled a bit as Wendy walked in from behind the 'Employees Only' door from the gift shop.

"Oh, hey Dipper!" She greeted, smiling at him. "I guessed you were still sick when you weren't hanging out with me in the shop today. How's the bod?"

Dipper shrugged a little, suddenly feeling embarrassed about his current state. He was laid out on Stan's wide armchair under blankets, his head propped up by the pillow from his bed.

"Not…so spectacular," He admitted, weakly chuckling. "Sorta feels like my insides are rotting."

"That's never fun, man, you better get well soon or I might find someone to replace you for hangout duty during my shift," She joked, smirking.

Dipper smiled, he appreciated the way Wendy treated him as one of her peers, especially while he was just about as weak and child-like as she could have possibly seen him.

"Anyway, I'm heading home for tonight. I hope you feel better tomorrow, Dip!" She called, walking out of the Shack and closing the door behind her.

Dipper was busy trying to get his illness-ridden brain to comprehend the TV show that was on when he heard Mabel enter the room and begin going through the cupboards for something to eat.

Hearing the sounds of food preparation reminded him how very afraid he still was to eat anything, shuddering in memory of what happened last time he ate.

"Hey Dipstick!" Mabel sang, spinning into the room in the early evening. "Want something to eat? You haven't thrown up at all today; I bet you'd feel better!"

"I'm not hungry…and I don't want to start throwing up again," He explained, hoping Mabel wouldn't press the matter.

"What about chicken noodle soup?"

Dipper suppressed the sudden urge to turn over and vomit on the floor right then and there at the shudder-inducing thought of even trying to eat chicken noodle soup. Last time he'd gotten sick, the taste of it had been in his mouth, and he could only associate chicken soup with the memory of being horribly ill all over the floor in the pitch black darkness of the attic in the middle of the night.

He clenched his jaw and curled into himself, trying to suppress the nausea that was threatening to return.

"Dipper? Soup?" Mabel persisted.

"Mabel," He stammered, "I'm really not hungry. Don't talk about food…please."

"Okay, okay. Sorry!" she said, putting the can of soup she'd picked up back on the shelf in the pantry. She grabbed the big plastic bowl Dipper had been keeping nearby, putting it within his reach, since he was looking dangerously pale.

Mabel hung around for a little while longer, eating Spaghetti-os while Stan closed up shop and eventually decided the color was returning to Dipper's face a little, quelling her concern. She decided after awhile that since Dipper wasn't hungry or in any real distress, she didn't need to stick around, and headed out the door to go to Candy's house for a little while, feeling she needed a break from a somewhat grumpy Dipper and from the Shack.


	3. Chapter 3

Dipper spent the next hour of the evening lying down and willing the suddenly reemerging nausea to please, please go away. He knew that logically, it was likely he felt so awful as a result of his probable dehydration and definite fever, but he was so nauseous he was afraid to consume anything, whether it be medicine for the fever or water to quench the dehydration.

Mabel had gone out and Dipper was glad that she was getting out of the house after being pretty housebound since he'd gotten sick. He did, however, miss having her company to distract him from how sick he was.

Stan eventually came back into the house, and after getting a soda from the fridge, walked over to his nephew.

"You need to eat something," he said bluntly. "You're gonna feel even worse if you don't put something in your stomach, kid."

Dipper huffed, knowing his uncle was right, but still feeling wary about the idea of eating anything.

"Okay…but I can't do chicken soup," He mumbled, shuddering at the thought. "Something besides that."

"Fair enough. What about some white rice? And dry toast? Y'know, simple stuff you could probably keep down."

Dipper thought for a moment, and realized that was probably the best option as it sounded like the only thing his stomach could handle right then.

"Okay…"

"Alright. You sit tight, I'll go get that for you."

Dipper nodded, and tried to focus on the TV rather than the nausea he was feeling right then. Part of him was beginning to wonder if maybe food really wasn't such a good idea, but he knew Stan would have words if he tried to refuse again, so he kept quiet and told himself that his stomach was unsettled from hunger.

A bit later, Stan carried over a tray with dishes full of Dipper's current worst fear, and set it down on the Ottoman so he could help his sick great nephew sit up before putting the tray in his lap.

Dipper swallowed hard and picked up a fork, robotically pushing some rice onto it. He carefully brought it to his mouth, and hesitated a moment before he took a bite.

Stan had poured a little bit of chicken broth on it, he could tell, and it actually tasted nice and the rice was definitely good. He managed to eat about half of the bowl and had a few bites of toast and a few sips of ginger ale and decided, after he'd finished and his dishes were cleared, that food seemed to have been a better idea than he originally thought.

He spent another hour on the couch watching TV until Stan said he needed to go to bed and get some sleep. He was helped up the stairs and to his bed, given a just-in-case bowl, a glass of water, and instructions to yell if he needed anything.

He didn't have too much trouble falling asleep, but was distantly aware of his sister's absence (she'd decided to spend the night with Candy) and the fact that his dinner from earlier was settling like a rock at the base of his stomach. He pushed the thought of his uncomfortable stomach away as he slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

…

Dipper awoke in the dark to an all-too-familiar sensation, and grabbed the mixing bowl before he leant over it and was violently ill again. He took a few breaths and prayed that that was it, that he was done, but he was overtaken by nausea again and retched, expelling more of his meal from earlier.

Suddenly the sickness all became too much. He'd been able to handle the sickness thus far, not ever breaking down crying, but suddenly it was just too much, he couldn't handle it anymore. He'd been resting, eating plain foods, taking medicine, doing everything he was supposed to do to feel better and yet he still awoke in the middle of the night to miserably throw up. He broke down in tears from the pain and frustration, sobbing so hard he was having trouble catching his breath. Tears streamed down his pasty face as he tried to stop crying, but just couldn't. He suddenly heard the bum bum bum bum of hurried steps up the stairs, and he knew all of a sudden that Stan would see him crying and sick and the embarrassment of that just made him cry harder.

Stan of course did enter the room, switching the lamp on and quickly coming to his sobbing great nephew's side, lifting the bowl of vomit from his lap and putting it aside and sitting down next to him on his bed.

"Don't cry, don't cry, shh…it's okay, kid, take a deep breath…"

Dipper was crying too hard to hear the words of comfort Stan was trying to give, but he did appreciate the hand that was suddenly rubbing his back between the shoulder blades. He managed to slow down his weeping for a minute, and was lifted bridal style for the umpteenth time since he'd fallen ill, and was carried to the bathroom. He knelt in front of the toilet as he had before, thankfully only vomiting one more time while Stan patted his back.

He finished and scooted back from the toilet, tears falling silently down his cheeks. He was too sick to even feel embarrassed anymore.

Stan was busy fishing out the thermometer from the twins' bag of medicine when Dipper blurted out a choked "I'm sorry".

Stan looked at him sympathetically. "For what? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Dipper's eyes filled with tears and spilled over again as his throat squeezed together from a sob he trying to suppress. "B-But…I do," He wept. "I-I've woken you up t-two nights in a row and…" He trailed off, sobs overtaking him as he felt guilt wash over him.

A hand came to his back and he was ushered to lean against the body that owned said hand.

"Deep breaths, Dip."

He rested against his great uncle's side, taking deep breaths as he was told and began slowly calming down, until he was only left with a blotchy face and shaky breathing.

"Look, kid," Stan began gently once his charge had calmed down enough to hear him. "I wouldn't have taken on caring for you and your sister this summer if I wasn't willing to do this sorta stuff if I needed to. I don't have kids of my own, but I'm not naïve, kid. I know how sickness works and I know kids get sick. I'm more worried about making sure you're taken care of when you're like this than I am about getting a full eight hours," He told him, patting his shoulder.

Dipper nodded silently, his eyes closed, his eyelashes stuck together in wet clumps from the tears.

Stan grabbed the thermometer, turning it on and slipping it into the kid's mouth without moving him from where he was leant against his side.

It beeped a few minutes later to announce the reading was ready, and Stan pulled it out to read the 102.1 it had displayed on the screen.

"This is one hell a bug you've got, huh kid?"

Dipper nodded weakly, thinking that it really, really was. He wasn't sure he'd ever been this sick before. The last time he recalled getting truly so sick he was almost completely reliant on someone else was in third grade when he got a horrible case of strep throat and was in so much discomfort he couldn't sleep or swallow anything besides thin liquids, and was bound to a week of lying miserably on the couch sucking on throat lozenges that made his stomach turn.

He'd thought that was bad, and it was, but this was proving to be even worse. Sitting around with a sore throat, aching body, pounding headache, lingering exhaustion, persistent fever, and worst of all, a churning, hurting stomach all day made existence itself seem absolutely miserable.

His thoughts were interrupted as Stan eased himself away from his nephew, moving to get the glass from beside the sink and fill it with water.

A few moments later it was passed to him along with some painkiller pills. He took both pills with a tiny sip of water, and proceeded to take the nasty cherry-flavored antiemetic when it was handed to him. They spent a few more minutes in the bathroom, making sure Dipper would keep the medicine he'd just taken down, and when they both felt sure his stomach content was staying put for the moment, Dipper was again lifted and carried up the stairs. Realistically, Stan knew he could walk if he really needed to, but this was faster and easier on the kid's body, and his body could definitely benefit anything that was done in an effort to keep it from exerting itself.

Dipper was put in bed and Stan cleaned out the bowl and brought it back to him, and checked to see if he needed anything else.

He shook his head tiredly. "I guess…I still can't go back to work tomorrow?"

"You guess correctly, kid. I think I'm gonna take you to the doctor in the morning, just to be sure you're not, I don't know, dying on me," He answered with a smirk.

Dipper groaned. "What if I feel a lot better?"

"If you really feel way better and have no fever by morning, then sure, I won't take you. If you've still got a fever, you're going."

Dipper decided that was fair, and shuffled down under his blankets to sleep.

"Hope you can get some sleep, Dip. And I hope you wake up feeling better."

"Thanks…" He murmured as Stan made to leave, and sincerely hoped along with Stan that he'd be able to do both of those things, as well.


End file.
